


The lost ones back

by Katarik



Series: Thou unrelenting Past [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Celebrimbor Did Nothing Wrong, Gen, POV Male Character, POV Third Person Limited, Past Tense, okay but If Celebrimbor Had Lived
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:00:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24058636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katarik/pseuds/Katarik
Summary: Gandalf had questions. He both hoped, and hoped against, Celebrimbor having answers.
Series: Thou unrelenting Past [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735639
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	The lost ones back

It was footsteps on the grass that alerted Celebrimbor to the presence approaching. He spun, one hand falling to the sword he yet carried, and halted mid-draw as he recognized the one now near. So it must have been deliberate for him to have known so late, a suppression of Gandalf's feä, that all the warning he had had was the passage of his hröa through the world.

"Celebrimbor," greeted the Maia, as he came and sat beside him, looking out to the forest and the rising barrows.

He sheathed his sword and sat himself, wondering what had brought him here. "Gandalf," replied Celebrimbor (for he knew well the importance of names, and had been told that it was this name he preferred now, and not Olorin, as he had been called of old in one tongue of the Elves, though Celebrimbor had himself never met that bodiless one). He did not smile in greeting, for the Maia looked weary, and Celebrimbor had in his long life come to know that it was a dangerous time indeed when one of the Maiar looked resigned. His fingers twitched where they rested on his thighs, almost a flinch, and for a moment in his vision they bent oddly. "You do not often come here."

"No, I do not. Do you recall, seventy-some years ago now, when we asked you if the Three could identify the maker of the One, were he present?"

"I do," was the even-voiced reply. "I did not, and do not, think that they could. I maintain that were the One destroyed, its maker would more than likely fade then, but I... do not think that it has been. I think the bearers of the Three would know." And, secretly, Celebrimbor felt that he, too, would know, though he had worn the Three only long enough to test them before giving them away, and had never worn the One at all. He still felt that he would know, if that burning power ceased to exist.

"Could one of the Three, or all of them used together, identify the One itself?"

Startled by the question, for a moment Celebrimbor only blinked at him, before horror clutched cold around his throat. "No," he replied. His voice was less steady. "Not in the sense of knowing what was there. Certainly the perception granted a wearer of one of the Three would aid in recognizing the currents of power around such a mighty work, but not... one of them would not feel the presence of the One nearby, and respond. The crafting of the One involved a pouring of its maker's essence into the ring, creating almost a second self, the tool channeling and expanding the power bound into it. Where the One is, its maker is also, in some ways, I think. The Three were not made in the same fashion. They are great, and they are powerful, but they are tools alone. It may be safe to have the Three near the One, if the One is not being worn, but I would caution against it. Olorin," the old name slipping out as Celebrimbor thought of these old things, and then he colored in embarrassment to have misspoken. "Gandalf, my apologies. What has you asking these questions of me?"

The Maia merely looked at him, and his eyes were very dark and very sad. "Could you identify the One, did you look upon it again?"

It was briefly difficult to draw a breath. "Yes," Celebrimbor said, Celebrimbor who had been the first save for its maker to know that the greatest of the Great Rings had been made, and first to look upon the One and see what had been wrought, and he said nothing else after that.

Gandalf gave him a moment, and together they sat in quiet. A bird was singing in the warm golden sunshine, and the breeze that blew fitfully was a playful one, and sweet with the scent of the woods. He was unsure if it was Tom's choice or Gandalf's, to have this pleasant moment, but either way Celebrimbor was grateful. Then Gandalf spoke again, though he did not look at Celebrimbor. "I am sorry that I ask this of you. I thought perhaps that Narya would know that Ring, and that I was merely fearful of ghosts. And then I wondered if the shadow that smote my heart then was Narya's warning. Over these last twenty years I have thought -- and then thought again that it was an old man's worries of what came before. Still, I was afraid. There are records I have sought, but too many of them are unsure, give merely hints and whispers and thoughts of the powers of some of the rings, and some of the Great Rings, and I am yet afraid, and more, I am afraid that I have already waited too long to ask. I must be sure. And so I have come to you, lord of Eregion, son of Curufin, grandson of Feanor, to trouble you again regarding an old enemy of yours and of your family.

"What can you tell me of it? If I had found a golden ring of power, and wanted to know that it was not -- that Ring of Power?"

And so Celebrimbor told him more of the making of the Nine than he had spoken of in a very long time, even as time is counted by the Elves, and of the making of the Seven. He told him what he knew, and what he had guessed, of the crafting of the One, though he tried to say it plainly and in ways that one who was not a smith could use. He told him also of the letters he had seen blazing in it at times, when the metal and the hand that wore it had been heated red-hot, though he did not say aloud the words. Even in Tom Bombadil's land, Celebrimbor did not speak that tongue, though he had never forgotten what he knew of its grammar and vocabulary, and sometimes he tried to consider how it might have grown and changed over the years, as a sore tooth or an old scar might be prodded. They broke their speech only that Celebrimbor might drink the cool clear water of the river, and wipe his face clean of the tears that sometimes came, and so that Tom and Goldberry might feed them, and what they spoke of they spoke of for three days and nights together, though in the nights they spoke only inside Tom's own house.

Gandalf thanked him, the last morning, when Celebrimbor had given him every way to identify the One that he could think of. He reached to put a grateful hand on Celebrimbor's shoulder, but he stopped when Celebrimbor jerked back from him, and then let his hand fall.

Celebrimbor had found many words over the last three days, but he could not now find the words to apologize for flinching. Gandalf did not ask those words of him, merely said that he would come again when he could, and hopefully on more pleasant subjects. Celebrimbor did not believe him, but he did not say that. Kindness should not be returned to its giver in that fashion.

So Celebrimbor bade him farewell, and after Gandalf had left Celebrimbor was shooed by Goldberry out into the sun, and was asked to help her weave the river-reeds, and he spent the day with her in the bright sunlight and the sparkling water, and his hands did not tremble on their stems.

Nevertheless, his dreams were dark, and when he returned to waking from his mind's wanderings, he found he had -- unusually -- rolled in the night, and he was facing towards Mordor, one arm outflung, and his right hand with its thin tracery of old white scars had curled in on itself as if it were holding a small and precious thing.


End file.
